


Stop Stepping on my Toes

by gerank



Category: Unspecified Fandom
Genre: Barebacking, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, attic sex, poor Armie's heart, poor Timmy's feet, sweaty boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerank/pseuds/gerank
Summary: The sun is torturing Timmy's feet.Armie just wants to smoke a cigarette in peace.Timmy thinks following Armie up to their set's secluded attic is an absolutely marvelous idea.





	Stop Stepping on my Toes

The air’s burning like holding one’s fingertips an inch from a flickering, dancing candle wick. The sun’s hot, colored a blistering orange, burning hot down on every pale, translucent inch of skin covering Timmy’s shoulders.

Timmy bounces from his tippy toes to the other foot, repetitive like he’s dancing to a silent beat. The Italian brick isn’t helping. It’s burning his feet like they’re hot cakes.

He pops the faint taste of artificial bubblegum in his mouth, trying to ignore the sizzling sting on his delicate soles as long as he can muster.

Luca’s taking god knows how long to bring the lemonade he promised, Timmy’s eighty percent sure he’ll just end up using the liquid to pour on his feet, hopefully there’s enough that he can create the holiness of a puddle.

Armie, _fucking Armie_ , standing tall and content, a faint smile riding high on his sun kissed cheeks, he’s barefoot like him but a complete opposite. He’s perfectly at ease. He looks like every bit of a soft spring breeze that Timmy could melt in.

He’s just staring up, over the slight stretch of hills in the distant. The soft bumps on a map that Timmy barely has looked over.

He’s watching the doves cry their sorrowful moans in the distant. Timmy squints to see them but it’s all a blur. The heat quivers visibly like old TV static, Timmy hisses.

“Fuck,” he grits his teeth, the urge building in him to punch something. It’s terribly hot and he’s angry. He feels like he’s been sun dried like the cracked tomatoes out in the garden, their poor skin reluctantly dealing with the mix of cool and burning weather that’s been racking Crema’s airways.

Armie glances back, his eye color going bright like ice as a sunray glows against it like he’s something holy.

“Trouble?”

It’s snide. Teasing and cheeky, _Armie_.

Timmy finds it annoying, his patience already stretched past its breaking point, ruined.

Timmy pinches his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger, exhaling heavily.

“It’s fucking hot,” he complains pissily.

Armie grins, shrugging nonchalant. “It’s fine where I’m standing.”

Timmy bites his lip, stopping another complaint from exiting. Instead he moves on his shaky, burnt feet, striding towards Armie until he’s standing right before him. He’s tall and elongated like the sculptures Luca bathed Timmy’s vision and mind with, Timmy smiles sarcastically sweet up at him.

“May I?” Timmy asks, glancing down at Armie’s big, long feet. They look like the most heavenly floor right about now.

Armie seems confused for a second before that typical, bubbly laugh exits his throat. It does weird things to Timmy’s stomach. He loathes the way he thinks about him. The fact that Armie’s fucking gorgeous, he’s gut churningly charming, his stupid bright smile and his strong long arms that could take real control of Timmy if he’d felt like it.

What he hates most of all is the ring on Armie’s finger. Timmy aches with dread at the smooth, shiny golden surface of it, the way Armie wears it proudly. It feels almost bold whenever he touches Timmy’s face with it while practicing a scene.

Armie lifts him under his armpits, long fingers covering the damp expanse of flesh like he’s picking up one of his children, Timmy’s insides _burn_ at the revelation.

He sets him down atop his feet like a mind reader. Timmy didn’t think he’d actually let him, nor want him to.

Armie’s full of surprises.

Timmy loves and despises the feeling all at once. The closer he gets the more he feels himself tearing inside, away from his dignity and pride.

Timmy shudders, arms linking together in a circle behind Armie’s neck.

Soft breathes, awkward, too close eye contact that makes Timmy want to run for the hills and sloppily make out with him just the same.

“Better?” Armie asks, voice full of rasp that didn’t reside there before. His flat, large palm enclosing on the small of Timmy’s back.

Timmy’s breath lodges in his throat.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

+++

They have forty minutes for break.

Now usually Armie would spend it alone upstairs, the old dusty attic smoking a cigarette with the space of his own head to himself.

Today’s different, wildly different.

Timmy’s spread out, in the attic with him. His mouth’s open, a string of sounds falling free from those cherry lips like Armie’s stroking him at his core.

He’s fucking him.

He can’t believe himself.

That he’d allow himself to do this.

The ring on Armie’s finger swears back at him every time it reflects the dusty old light bulb burning weakly above their gently sweaty bodies. It looks even filthier gripping Timmy’s hip.

It’s a rough, quick fuck that both of them will regret, he’s sure of it.

He’d went up here for a cigarette, he even kindly let Timmy and Luca know. Timmy had other plans then minding his own and instead chose to follow him up like a brand new puppy dog.

Timmy, of course thought it’d be a great to test Armie, to rise up on his toes again where no one can see them.

_Timmy sucks his lip into his mouth, idly watching Armie pull his pack out the fold in his jean pocket. He’s short circuiting on will power and any sense. All he can think about is getting Armie’s dick out, if Armie will even let him._

_The sheer delicacy of the situation could seal or shatter their entire relationship, friendship, whatever._

_Timmy can’t help but care. It’s now or never._

_He sees the cylinder outline of a lighter in Armie’s front left jean pocket, the much longer outline besides it resonates something deep inside Timmy that he doesn’t want to fully acknowledge._

_He steps forward, right on Armie’s warm bare feet._

_It’s too intimate. Timmy knows Armie can’t read this any other way. They are completely secluded, any noise they could make would be drowned out by the pure thickness of the wood and brick this sturdy house is built with._

_Armie makes a soft sound, a sigh._

_Timmy smoothly pats the front of Armie’s bulge, pretending the touch to be of innocence, it’s a weak lie to both of them. He slides his thin fingers to snatch the azure blue lighter out of Armie’s pocket, looking into those flickering irises, holding that stare even though he’s trembling inside, and successfully flicks the light. He lights Armie’s cigarette with a smugness pouring in his chest._

_Armie lets the lit cigarette drop from his mouth like it didn’t matter, he pushes Timmy off him, a soft but feral shove that has Timmy landing on his ass in a heap of blankets Armie obviously naps in from time to time._

_Timmy barely blinks and the cigarettes crushed under Armie’s heel just like any sensible thoughts that could enter Timmy’s conscience._

Timmy opened up around him like the petals of a lily. He smells like the fancy coconut shampoo the cutesy hotel they’re staying at offers and he looks like heaven.

He’d imagine Timmy to be a dirtier, filthy, depraved fuck. That Armie could just fuck him until he’s lax and loose, like a whore Armie could forget about when he closes his eyes and lies besides Elizabeth at night.

But he’s not like that at all. It churns disgustingly in Armie’s chest as he takes him, fucking him even deeper and more strenuous than he fucks Elizabeth. He fucks him like a prize. He pushes into him like he wants to send a sacred message only they can read.

Armie comes to the tragic conclusion that he fucks Timmy like he’s in love with him.

Timmy’s soaking up every bit of it, rubbing his shoulders and begging softly for more, for Armie to cum inside him.

Timmy already made a mess between them, sticky white and shining in Timmy’s dipped navel. He looks softer than before, his cheeks flushed pink and his mouth lolled with soft inhales. The look in his eyes tell Armie everything that he doesn’t want to know.

“Cum inside you?”

Armie has to ask, because he’s not sure if he heard him right or just can’t trust his own ears.

Timmy swallows, the bob of his adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light temptingly.

He pulls Armie sickeningly closer. It’s achingly more intimate than he’s felt with Elizabeth in years.

“Please,” Timmy whispers, rubbing the knobs of his shoulder blades with delicate fingertips that feel like silk.

Armie clenches his eyes shut, tight to black out the freckled pale beauty of Timmy’s narrow shoulder. He grinds deep between Timmy’s hips, his own hips stuttering, shaking as he feels his balls twitch. Timmy’s hole flutters against the sweaty skin.

Armie can’t bring himself to look, so he just collapses on Timmy for a moment, all tinier, smoother limbs condensed under his huge frame.

His breathing evens out and his chest feels emptier as he pulls out, nearly cursing in his head as he feels the wetness that follows out of Timmy.

“I-“

Armie stops, not knowing where to continue. If he _should_ continue.

Timmy seems to understand, saying in a frail, faint voice, “I understand.”

Armie looks at him once, just once because he knows that if he looks any longer he’ll wrap the sweet long limbed boy to his chest and he can’t have that, absolutely fucking not.

Timmy’s still on his back, legs loose and kept in that same position they’d fucked in, his ribcage deflating with every gentle puff of breath that exits through those soft, barely kissed lips.

“I gotta go,” Armie tells him dryly, looking painfully away at the plain unfinished paint on the far wall.

“But you always smoke your cigarette’s up here,” Timmy counters weakly.

“Not anymore,” Armie replies hastily, getting to his feet and trying to stave off the panic of feeling like a complete fuck up.

“You’re still inside me,” Timmy says.

Armie sighs, tortured because it’s painfully _true_.

“Stop stepping on my toes.”


End file.
